Football: He suffered a broken leg at the start of the game, but partnered with Haaland!

I drew back the curtains. The morning in Cologne was gloomy, with a fine drizzle falling from the sky.

Today is the second day after the game, and the whole team is on holiday to rest.

Sun Yang's personal therapist and childhood sweetheart, Catherine, had just finished a set of traditional Chinese medicine acupuncture and cupping treatments.

Sun Yang changed into a black tracksuit, leaned down and kissed Catherine's forehead, then quickly went downstairs.

Uncle Henry was already waiting in the black Mercedes-Benz van.

"Not going to the training base for extra practice?" Henry handed over a cup of hot coffee.

"Go to St. Mary's Hospital in Dortmund. I need to see Marco." Sun Yang took the coffee, his voice a little muffled.

The van started and smoothly merged onto the highway leading to Dortmund.

Henry glanced at Sun Yang as he drove. "You need to be mentally prepared. The public opinion outside is in an uproar."

"How so?" Sun Yang took a sip of black coffee, the bitter taste stimulating his nerves.

"PSG coach Tuchel gave an interview to L'Équipe this morning," Henry said, turning down the volume on the car radio. "He said Dortmund won entirely because of referee bias. That red card ruined the game. They're going to beat us by more than four goals in the next leg at the Parc des Princes."

"Verratti also tweeted. He said his action didn't warrant a yellow card at all, and that Reus was just too fragile, like a piece of glass that would break at the slightest touch. He even added a cheeky smiley face emoji to his tweet."

Snapped!

Sun Yang crushed the paper cup in his hand, and coffee splattered all over the car door.

"They're courting death," Sun Yang squeezed out the words through gritted teeth.

Henry handed over a few tissues. "Dortmund fans have practically flooded PSG's official Twitter account. All the media across Europe are watching this crucial next leg. Right now, everyone's focus is on just how badly Reus is injured."

The van drove for over an hour before finally stopping in the underground parking lot of St. Mary's Hospital.

The area was already packed with sports reporters. Several uniformed security personnel had set up a cordon and were struggling to maintain order.

Sun Yang put on a baseball cap and a mask, and escorted by Henry, went directly to the sixth-floor VIP orthopedic ward through the staff entrance.

As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, a heavy sense of oppression hit me.

The spacious corridor was packed with people. They were all Borussia Dortmund players.

No one spoke.

Veteran Mats Hummels sat on a plastic chair against the wall, his hands tightly covering his cheeks. Brandt leaned against the window, staring blankly at the rain outside. Sancho held his phone, the screen lit up, but he didn't swipe it for a long time.

Haaland was the most eye-catching.

The Nordic behemoth, who usually roams the field, was now wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt and leaning against the corner of the wall with red eyes.

His huge hands gripped the hem of his clothes tightly, his face filled with self-reproach and frustration.

Piszczek patted him on the shoulder and sighed silently.

Seeing Sun Yang approach, several teammates looked up and managed a forced, bitter smile.

"How's the situation?" Sun Yang walked over to Haaland and asked softly.

Haaland sniffed, his voice muffled.

"The MRI just came out. Dr. Schmidt and the coach are inside. Marco was in so much pain yesterday that he had to take injections and painkillers all night, and he only managed to sleep for a little while this morning."

As soon as he finished speaking, the heavy door to the ward was pushed open.

Head coach Favre walked out with a faltering gait. The usually impeccably groomed Swiss coach now had a crooked tie, disheveled hair, and sunken eyes. He looked more than ten years older overnight.

Following behind was the team doctor, Schmidt, carrying a thick stack of test reports.

In a flash, all the Dortmund players in the corridor rushed over.

"Coach, Marco's leg..." Hummels stood up, his voice hoarse.

Favre glanced at the players, closed his eyes in anguish, and shook his head. He didn't even have the strength to speak.

Schmidt sighed heavily and held up the film in his hand.

"The MRI results are in, and the situation is terrible," Schmidt said in an extremely somber tone.

"The deep muscles in the groin were completely torn. Moreover, Verratti's flying tackle had a deadly twisting force, which directly caused Marco's old wound in the soleus muscle of his right leg to rupture."

"Plus, his meniscus was also damaged. This means he's out for the rest of the season."

Schmidt paused, his eyes reddening.

"He'll be completely out of the running for the upcoming European Championship. We need to schedule surgery immediately, and it will take at least eight months before he can get back on the ground for rehabilitation training."

He'll miss the European Championship too.

These words struck a heavy blow to the hearts of every Dortmund player.

When Germany lifted the World Cup trophy, Reus watched it on television from home due to a serious injury. It was a lifelong regret for him. Now, having finally returned to his peak form and wanting to prove himself in the European Championship, he has once again been shattered by relentless injuries.

Haaland slammed his fist heavily onto the metal trash can, making a loud thud.

Sun Yang clenched his fists tightly. His fingernails dug deep into his flesh.

The ward door was half-open, and you could smell a strong mixture of disinfectant and medicine inside.

Favre clapped his hands, trying to make his voice sound steady. "Guys, listen to me. Marco just woke up and he's in a bad state. He's not in a good condition to see too many people right now."

The veteran coach turned to look at Sun Yang in the crowd.

"Sun. Marco asked me to call you in. He wants to speak with you alone."

All eyes were on Sun Yang.

Sun Yang nodded, walked past his teammates, and pushed open the white door.

The curtains in the ward were drawn tightly, making it dark and oppressive.

Reus lay half-reclined on the hospital bed. His right leg was suspended high in an extremely thick cast and brace. The leg was swollen like fermented dough.

Once the most handsome face in the Bundesliga, now he's as white as a sheet of paper. The light in his eyes has been completely extinguished, leaving only ashen gray.

Hearing Sun Yang's footsteps, Royce forced a smile that looked more like a grimace.

He turned his head with difficulty and pulled a plastic resealable bag from under his pillow.

It was a yellow and black captain's armband with the Borussia Dortmund crest on it. It was still stained with blood and bits of grass from last night's match.

Royce gripped the armband tightly, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Sun Yang.

"To Paris."

Royce's voice was weak but incredibly penetrating. "Take it with you."